


Emotional Mess

by Dragon_in_Disguise



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Gen, Hurt Mickey Milkovich, Hurt/Comfort, Ian Gallagher Loves Mickey Milkovich, Lots of it, M/M, Making Up, Married Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Mickey Milkovich Loves Ian Gallagher, Season/Series 11, basically the gallaghers comforting mickey, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-03
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-16 15:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29827338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dragon_in_Disguise/pseuds/Dragon_in_Disguise
Summary: When pushed enough, Mickey can actually be a very emotional person. Ian knows this, but the rest of his family doesn't.Until now.Aka, a s11 based fic where the Gallaghers catch Mickey crying (or almost crying)
Relationships: Carl Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Debbie Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Frances "Franny" Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Liam Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher & Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 8
Kudos: 170





	Emotional Mess

**Author's Note:**

> idk I just wanted to write Mickey actually showing his emotions and this happened

“Fuck! Fucking piece of shit fucking-!”

Lip slowly closes the front door to the Gallagher household at the sound of muffled yelling, frowning as he pokes around the downstairs to see nobody is there. He heads upstairs, following the sound of things being thrown and muffled cursing, recognizing Mickey’s voice and colorful vocabulary. 

Lip needed to stop by and see if he could find his old baby clothes up in the attic, but now his focus is on the rampage going on in his old room. He knocks lightly before he slides open the door, a bit surprised to find Mickey on his knees picking up a handful of clothes with a grumble. “Hey, Mick.”

Mickey looks up, glaring harshly at him. “Christ, ever heard of knocking?”

“I did.”

“Did you hear me say come in?” Mickey snaps. 

Lip rolls his eyes, leaning against the doorframe. “What’re you doing anyway?”

“Cleaning,” Mickey spits out, snatching up another piece of clothing and chucking the handful towards the corner where a laundry basket sits, clothes scattered all around it. 

Lip crosses his arms, eyeing the room with a raised brow. He’s not sure Mickey understands what cleaning is considering the current condition of the room. “Right.”

Mickey, who is currently kneeling next to his bed in the middle of the room, is surrounded by clutter - ranging from clothes to books to beer cans and food wrappers. Lip makes a face when he spots two empty bottles of lube and a sex toy barely hidden under the bed, but he doesn’t comment. Mickey seems pissed off enough already. 

He’s just about to leave his brother-in-law be when he hears a choked noise come from him. He pauses in backing up, looking over at Mickey to find his shoulders trembling, head ducked down to shield his face. His back is to Lip so Lip’s not entirely sure what he’s doing, but a pit settles in his gut. He takes a careful step into the room, inching closer to the other with a hesitant “Mick?”

Mickey sniffs and rubs his face, not turning to look at him. When he speaks, his voice comes out thick and quiet. “I’m a shit husband, aren’t I?”

Lip’s taken aback by the question. “Well, I personally think you both are.”

“Ian’s fucking great,” Mickey hisses, digging his fingers into his thighs. He still won’t look at Lip. “He has a job and a plan for our fucking future and shit and I… I don’t know how to do this shit.” 

Lip sighs and moves around Mickey, sitting down next to him and leaning back against the bed. From here, he can see Mickey’s face. He tries not to react at the small trails of tears Mickey has going, eyes red and puffy. He’s trying his hardest not to cry, avoiding Lip’s gaze pointedly. Lip tilts his head back and stares up at the ceiling, humming softly. “It’s not like you were given a guide on this shit. With our shit parents, it’s no surprise we can’t function normally.”

Mickey looks at him, gaze flickering with vulnerability. Lip continues. “Trust me, Ian is not good at this either. I watch you guys and you both fight all the damn time.”

“We make up afterward,” Mickey says softly, almost defensively. 

Lip nods. “Yeah, I guessed. But my point is…” He sighs, tilting his head to look at Mickey. “My point is that Ian loves you. Has since the day you two started fucking. I never got it, but that’s just ‘cause I didn’t like you.” Mickey sneers slightly at him, making Lip crack a grin. “After all the shit you two have gone through, he’s not going anywhere this time. You two are still working out of that honeymoon phase and shit. You’ll figure it out, Mick.”

Mickey stares down at his hands for a few moments, considering Lip’s words. He huffs and rubs his face clean, eyes still red but no longer glazed with unshed tears. “Think a piece of shit Milkovich like me can really be something for him?”

Lip’s gaze softens, reaching over to grip his knee. Mickey tenses up at his touch but doesn’t lash out, making Lip’s smile widen just a fraction. “You got this, Mickey.” 

Mickey bites his lip and nods slowly. Lip lets go of him and stands, holding out a hand for him to grab. Mickey reluctantly grabs his hand and stands with him, huffing softly. “The fuck do house husbands even do? That’s what I am, right?”

“Until you get a job,” Lip grins, looking around the room. “I wouldn’t know, honestly. Had nothing like that growing up.”

“Same here,” Mickey says. 

“Could ask Cami,” Lip hums. “She’s Brad’s wife - Tami’s sister.”

“Don’t bother,” Mickey shrugs, looking around and kicking a box under the bed. “Just gotta… clean this dump and Ian will be a little happy with me when he gets home.”

Lip pokes his arm. “Should make him dinner if you wanna make him happy.”

Mickey makes a face. “I’ve never cooked.”

“Tami can help. Come on.” 

Mickey hesitates but follows after him. 

Debbie grumbles to herself as she lowers her phone from her ear, listening to Sandy’s voicemail message play once again. She left Franny with Sandy and Mickey before she went to do a job and now she’s not sure she should have with the lack of communication between her and them. Maybe she should’ve tried calling Mickey - he’s always on his damn phone anyway. 

It’s too late anyway - she’s already walking through the front door. 

She sags in relief when she hears Franny talking, knowing she’s still alive and all, but pauses when she hears her say “You’re crying!”

She stops herself from turning the corner, taken aback. She left Franny with Mickey and Sandy, so is she talking about one of them? A Milkovich? Crying? Debbie’s never heard of such a thing. 

She hears a sniffle and a choked chuckle, eyes widening when she hears the familiar voice. “Yeah, I know. This topic makes me sad sometimes.”

Mickey. 

Mickey’s crying? For real? Debbie doesn’t believe it. She carefully peers around the corner, not wanting to interrupt this once-in-a-lifetime scene. Mickey is sitting on the couch with Franny standing in front of him across the coffee table, coloring messily in a coloring book he or Sandy must’ve gotten her. She’s pouting, looking up at Mickey. “Why?”

He sighs, rubbing his face tiredly. Debbie can see his eyes are glossy, his hand rubbing away a tear that Franny spotted. “Well… I haven’t seen him in years. Yev was a cute little fu- uh… kid. Everybody said he looked a lot like me, but blonde.”

“Were you blonde?” Franny asks, bouncing on her feet a bit. 

Mickey snorts and shakes his head. “Hell no. Never. Dunno how he was, but I think it was from his mom’s side.”

“He had mommy?” Franny tilts her head in confusion. “Ian not mommy?”

Mickey’s eyes flicker and he looks down, shaking his head. Debbie can see the pain edging along his face but it disappears fast. “No, Yev has a mommy. He lives with her right now which is why I haven’t seen him. Me and his mommy don’t get along.”

“Aw,” Franny pouts, setting her crayon down. She skitters around the table to get to Mickey, grabbing his leg and hoisting herself up onto his lap. He has to help her, chuckling a bit with a question in his eyes. Once Franny settles, she smacks her hands against his cheeks - Debbie sees him wince and holds back her own chuckle - and grins at him. “Don’t be sad. I wanna meet Yev!”

Mickey stares at her, lips twitching up. “I dunno, Fran.” 

“I wanna meet Yev!” she says louder, squishing his cheeks together with a pout. “Pretty please?”

Mickey’s gaze softens and he smiles - or as best as he can with his cheeks squished. “Fine.”

Franny squeals and jumps off of him, running to the kitchen and grabbing her shoes. “Now!”

Mickey sputters, standing up quickly. “Wha- I have to call his mom first, Fran!”

Debbie smiles, amused with the scene. She knows she should step in considering Franny needs to eat dinner and it’s way too late for them to be going anywhere to see Mickey’s kid - wherever he is - but she stays where she is, watching as Franny giggles and runs around the couch with her shoes in hand with Mickey chasing after her, any tears that were there nowhere to be seen. 

“Get the fuck outta here!”

“Fucking pig!”

“You gonna snitch on us, Gallagher?!”

Carl rolls his eyes as he exits his partner’s car, flipping off the Milkovichs yelling at him from next door. They sneer and one throws an empty pack of cigarettes at him, but Carl just keeps on walking up the porch and into his house, grumbling as he shakes his head in annoyance. 

When he enters the living room, he pauses when he sees Mickey standing by the window, holding the curtains open slightly and peering over into their neighbor’s yard, a sad expression planted on his face. Carl slowly moves past him, eyeing him out of the corner of his eye as he tugs off his vest, mildly concerned with the way Mickey is acting. 

When Mickey doesn’t move from his position after Carl grabs a beer, he comes up to stand beside him and peers out as well, following Mickey’s gaze. It takes a moment but he determines he’s watching Terry. The man, now paralyzed after a bullet hit him, sits in his wheelchair in the middle of the yard, sneering at his family members as they move around him, probably complaining about this or that. Carl didn’t even notice him over the sneers from Mickey’s family. 

Carl glances at Mickey, brows raising when he sees Mickey look down, blinking back a few tears. Carl opens and closes his mouth, hesitant on asking. “Are you okay, Mick?”

Mickey sighs heavily and closes the curtains, shaking his head. “Not really, no.”

“Your dad?”

Mickey nods. “Yeah… weird seeing him so fucking pathetic… almost shot him today.”

Carl hums, turning away from the window. “Why didn’t you?”

Mickey shrugs, sitting down on the couch. “Dunno. Guess I don’t have it in me.”

Sitting down next to him, Carl nudges him gently. “Not a bad thing. Besides, it’s best not to land back in prison again. You haven’t even been married for a year.” Mickey looks at him, taken aback by the mention of his marriage. Carl takes a quick drink of his beer. “Don’t think you and Ian wanna spend your first anniversary looking through glass.”

Mickey looks down, huffing softly. “Guess you’re right.”

“Course I am,” Carl grins, standing up. “Now no more crying. It’s fucking weird for me.”

Mickey laughs, shoving him harshly. “Fuck off, I wasn’t crying.”

“You almost were.”

“Yeah yeah, shut up.”

Liam once again ponders about getting a bike cause walking back and forth from school every day gets tiring, especially since the weather will warm up soon into those blistering hot days. He himself doesn’t have the money but maybe Lip does, or Ian and Mickey. Then again, if he asked Mickey, his brother-in-law might steal one instead of buying one. 

Speaking of Mickey, he sees him exit the house a couple of houses down. He’s considering asking him about the whole bike thing - preparing a speech on how he shouldn’t steal one - when he notices the baseball bat in Mickey’s hands and the glower on his face. 

Liam stops walking when he sees Mickey head towards the truck parked in front of the Milkovich house, jolting when Mickey suddenly reels back and slams the bat through the driver’s window. Glass shatters and Mickey ducks his head to avoid any damage to his face, taking the bat and slamming it through the windshield. Liam gaps at him, taken aback by the boldness behind his actions. Then again, Mickey himself is a Milkovich. 

But his family is known for killing family members. 

Liam breaks into a run, panic flaring in his chest. He’s terrified of those racist pieces of shit, especially after what he did to Terry. The whole family is on edge, and if they catch Mickey breaking their shit, they might hurt him. 

“Mickey!” he calls out when he makes it to the front of the Gallagher house, catching his attention before he can smash through another window. He runs up, grabs Mickey’s arm, and starts tugging him away from the car. 

“The fuck, kid?!” Mickey snaps, stumbling after him. 

Liam locks the door behind them and checks through the window, sagging in relief when he sees no one saw them. He sighs and drops his bag down onto the floor, turning to face the other with a lecture on the tip of his tongue, of how dangerous that was and that he of all people should know better. But he doesn’t. His voice fails him when he sees Mickey’s face. Complete and utter pain fills his features, eyes downcast and bat falling from his loose grip. Liam tilts his head, taking a step closer. “What was that about?”

Mickey inhales shakily, shrugging a shoulder. “Was angry. Needed to break something.”

He almost looks like a child would when being scolded by a parent. Liam almost chuckles at that thought considering Mickey is the adult and Liam is the kid, but he holds it back, a little bit more concerned about Mickey's sudden change in attitude. “Why?”

Mickey runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “Ian… we fought again.”

“So? You guys always fight.”

“That’s the problem,” Mickey mutters, lowering him down on the edge of the coffee table. “I just… this one was bad and it’s my fucking fault.”

“How come?” Liam asks, curious now. 

“We just kept going back and forth about this and that and… I don’t know why, but I made a jab at his disorder and he stormed out,” Mickey mumbles, voice choked. “I feel so bad… I know I fucked up big time and… I don’t know what will happen when he comes home.”

Liam nods slowly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Well, that was crappy. But Ian is head over heels for you, and you two fight a lot. He’ll forgive you. It’s a normal Tuesday at this point.” Mickey winces. Liam purses his lips and pats Mickey’s shoulder. “Just apologize when he comes home. Maybe butter him up with stuff he likes. He really liked it when you and Tami cooked that one night?”

Mickey glances up at him, eyes a little red. “Never say butter him up cause that means something else. And uh… you really think he’ll forgive me?”

“Totally,” Liam nods, certain. “You two always forgive each other. This won’t be any different.”

Mickey looks down, sighing. “I guess.”

“Come on,” Liam nudges him, “I wanted to ask you about getting a bike.”

It takes a moment for Mickey to wipe away any evidence that he was upset, looking up at Liam with a small grin. “Oh yeah?”

“In a legal way, Mick.”

“We’ll see about that.”

Ian groans as he leans back against the front door, completely exhausted from the extra hours he gave his job. It’s already dark and his family most likely already ate dinner. Carl and Liam are on the couch, watching TV with Franny at their feet, coloring in one of her coloring books. He shoots them a greeting as he goes by, heading into the kitchen and almost crying in relief when he sees a bucket of KFC, snatching a leg and chomping into it as he heads upstairs for the bathroom. 

It’s been a few days since his last fight with his husband and he’s still a little on edge with him. After the insult towards his disorder, Ian has been trying to let his anger settle, not in any mood to keep fighting. Mickey isn’t starting any either, staying mostly quiet the last few nights. Ian wants it to just mellow out, but the two are hardly talking now. They don’t even touch each other. It’s starting to upset him more than the jab Mickey made. 

He sighs as he lets his forehead thump against the shower wall, steam filling up the bathroom and making it a little hard to breathe. He’s tired and wants nothing more than to grab his husband, share a few kisses, and cuddle with him. He misses him. 

With a mission in mind to settle their little silent treatment, Ian finishes cleaning up and dries himself off, wrapping the towel around his hips and heading for his bedroom. For a moment, he wonders where Mickey is as he doesn’t see him, but he realizes after a moment he’s hidden under their covers. 

Ian is about to crawl into bed with him when he hears his hitched breathing, making him pause and listen harder. He sees the lump tremble and hears a few muffled sniffs. Ian frowns and gently sets a hand over the lump, feeling it stiffen. “Mick?”

“Go away,” Mickey mumbles, scooting away from his touch. 

Ian’s frown deepens. “Hey… hey,” he whispers, gently pulling the covers back. Mickey sniffs and doesn’t even bother to hide the tears trickling slowly down his face, hunching his shoulders up and curling away from Ian closer to the wall. Ian reaches down, stroking his knuckles gently along his cheek. “Mickey, hey… what’s wrong?” 

Mickey doesn’t shield away from his touch this time. He blinks rapidly and lets another tear fall, breathing shaky. “I’m a horrible husband.”

“What? No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am,” Mickey murmurs, closing his eyes tightly. “I couldn’t get that job today…” 

“You applied somewhere?” Ian asks, taken aback. Mickey has tried twice to get a job and both times failed, but that was weeks ago. He was sure Mickey gave up and he was stuck to being the only one working again. 

“Tried to,” Mickey mutters darkly, “but I fucked it up. Just like I fuck everything else up.”

Ian’s gaze softens. “Mickey, come here,” he murmurs, reaching down to cup his cheek. Mickey hesitates but lets Ian sit him up, eyes so sad and guilty. Ian cups both of his cheeks and tilts his face up, thumbs cleaning away his tear trails. “You don’t fuck everything up. You are a great husband - I wouldn’t ask for anyone else.”

Mickey doesn’t look convinced. “But I said-”

“It’s okay,” Ian says, leaning forward and pecking his lips. “I’m not mad anymore. I just wanna hold you and kiss you again. I miss you…” 

Mickey bites his lip, leaning into his hands. “Miss you too…” 

“C’mere then,” Ian whispers, pulling him closer and kissing him. Mickey melts into him, kissing him back slowly, tongues sliding gently. Ian’s heart warms, humming softly against his lips. When they pull apart, Mickey’s cheeks are flushed red and his eyes are no longer wet. Ian wipes his cheeks clean, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Maybe we should talk about how you do an interview properly.”

Mickey laughs a bit, pressing his hands to his chest. “I guess. I’m used to Terry’s jobs…” 

Ian hums low in his throat, pressing a kiss to the top of his head before he sits up a bit, sliding his towel off and tossing it aside. Mickey hums, pleased, and lets Ian guide him back down onto the bed, eyes fluttering shut when Ian kisses him again. 

Eventually, they settle on their sides with Ian spooning Mickey from behind. Ian’s body presses against him just right, his leg settled between Mickey’s and arms wrapped around him - one around the waist and the other nestled under his neck. Mickey feels all warm and gooey as Ian peppers the back of his neck with kisses, heart practically glowing. He’s been miserable these last few days and to have Ian back against him is everything he needed. 

They’ll be okay.

**Author's Note:**

> If y'all have any random prompts regarding Gallavich or the Gallagher family and Mickey, you can comment them below!


End file.
